


The Weight of Living

by Firebright Phoenix (pikestaff)



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood Elves, Gen, the Burning Crusade - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4464707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikestaff/pseuds/Firebright%20Phoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I couldn't really find anything in lore that explored how Grand Magister Rommath must have felt when Kael'thas Sunstrider betrayed the blood elves.  So I decided to write it, because why not.  The story of Kael's fall, from the vantage point of his most trusted adviser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after Blood of the Highborne and before In The Shadow of the Sun. Specifically, it takes place right before patch 2.4 of The Burning Crusade.
> 
> Updated on Aug 11 2015 to fix a couple of typos, formatting issues and a few minor continuity errors.

The Grand Magister was growing increasingly disturbed.

It was not like Kael’thas to be late. Once or twice, perhaps, because he was busy and because Outland held the potential for the unexpected.

But not again. Not this many times. Not this late.

Rommath stopped pacing for a few moments to peer at the scrying stone, wondering if he’d missed something, but it remained blank and lifeless. Why? Where was Kael? What was holding him up?

He thought about the last time the Prince had visited and they had been able to talk personally. It had, admittedly, been several months, but he hadn’t noticed anything particularly out of the ordinary then. Kael’thas had seemed somewhat stressed, yes, and even appeared almost haggard, but that was not particularly surprising. For years he had been carrying the burdens of an entire nation on his shoulders, and that would, of course, eventually show. And there was also the increasing intensity of his mission: traveling to another world and preparing it for his peoples’ arrival.

So maybe that was it, then. Maybe he had a good excuse. Maybe he was busy. Maybe it was all getting to him.

…but _this_ late?

Rommath resumed his pacing. Something was not right.

A few uncomfortable minutes passed and Rommath was disturbed to feel himself slowly combusting inside. He didn’t like feeling anxious - it was unbecoming of a sin’dorei magister. He paused now and took a few deep breaths to reorient himself. It was then that he heard a tentative knock at the door. He glanced towards it without moving his head— he had a good idea as to who was knocking and why they were. “Yes,” he called at length.

The door opened to reveal Maltrake, Rommath’s servant. The elf genuflected deeply, as he always did in the Grand Magister’s presence. “Sir,” he said. “My apologies for the interruption. Your presence is requested by the Regent Lord and the Ranger-General.”

Rommath had known of this meeting ahead of time, although he had held out hope that it would be canceled or postponed lest the prince try to contact him in the middle of it. He actually felt mildly irritated that it had not been. No matter— he had survived more than mere inconveniences over the course of the last several years. “Very well. Thank you,” he said, before channeling a brief spell and teleporting himself out of his study.

He rematerialized in the Court of the Sun and walked the short distance to the meeting hall where he knew his two colleagues would be waiting. He was not particularly fond of these meetings; he never did see eye-to-eye with his associates. Still, he resolved to get it all over with and then return to actually important work.

Upon entering the meeting hall he discovered that he was the last of the three to arrive, which he had been expecting. He bowed somewhat stiffly at the two of them before seating himself.

He looked across the table at Regent Lord Lor’themar Theron and Ranger-General Halduron Brightwing. He had been stuck working with these two for a few years, now, and he had a fairly good grasp of who they were.

Halduron was youthful, bright-eyed and alert, and the way he moved always reminded Rommath of some sort of young animal - a lynx or a dragonhawk yearling, perhaps. This was a fitting comparison, as the Ranger-General had clearly just come in from being out in the wild. Clumps of mud clung to the Farstriders’ attire he wore and dirt was lodged firmly underneath his chipped fingernails. Topping it off was his flaxen-colored hair, which had been tousled into tangles by the wind and apparently not sorted since then.

How uncouth.

In stark contrast to his fellow ranger was Lor’themar. Like Halduron, he was dressed in the outfit of a Farstrider— he refused to wear anything else— but his uniform was clean and pressed. So, too, was Lor’themar himself: well groomed and clean, although the bags under his eyes indicated that he had not had a good night’s sleep in several days. He looked tense and uncomfortable, as though his clothes were a bit too stiff.

So this was the man whom Kael had chosen to lead Quel’Thalas in his absence. Rommath was still not entirely sure what to make of that. Although he had developed a grudging respect for the elf after his conduct during the Scourge invasion, as well as his behavior during certain events at the Sunwell a few years after, the simple fact of the matter was that Lor’themar was, like Halduron, a ranger, and like most of his ilk he was overly sentimental and optimistic. These were traits that were all well and good when they were off cavorting with the animals or playing in the trees or whatever it was they did, but here in Silvermoon a leader had to possess a certain ruthlessness and cunning practicality, and Rommath had yet to be convinced that Lor’themar was capable of having these properties.

Hopefully Kael’thas would be back soon and Lor’themar could go back to his old life, which was what he seemed to want to do, anyway. He was clearly better suited for it, at least.

Rommath leaned his staff against the table and folded his arms. He didn’t have all day. “Well?”

“We need to talk,” said Lor’themar.

“Obviously,” the Grand Magister replied.

“We have received word of these so-called Scryers,” Lor’themar said, ignoring Rommath’s tone. “Led by Voren’thal the Seer, whom I presume you know.”

Of course he did; Voren’thal was one of Silvermoon’s top magisters and had been since well before Rommath was even born. He, of course, also knew about the Scryers— a group of defectors who had, for whatever unimaginable reason, chosen to desert Kael’s army and serve the naaru in Shattrath instead. Traitors, the lot of them. Just like the high elves who had turned their backs on them and fled into the arms of the Alliance— the Alliance, after all they had done to their people in Dalaran! It all personally disgusted Rommath— that even when their people were broken and scattered there were those who didn’t care if they fractured even more. But he reminded himself that it did not matter; the sin’dorei would overcome these obstacles and come out all the stronger for them.

For now, though, there was the unfortunate bureaucracy to deal with.

“They are traitors to the Crown,” Rommath said. “That’s not exactly something new.”

Lor’themar sighed and rubbed the corner of his good eye. “You know what I am asking, Rommath.”

He did, and he leaned forward. “Voren’thal was scared so he surrendered. The older he gets, the weaker his constitution grows. I do not know why Kael’thas put much faith in him to begin with. But he does not matter. These… Scryers do not matter. Nor did the Eclipsion. What matters is that those of us who remain loyal to the Prince continue to serve him. Every day we get closer to our end goal. We must not falter now.”

“And what is this ‘end goal’, exactly?” Lor’themar looked Rommath directly in his glittering emerald eyes. “The Sun knows the Prince hasn’t talked to me in months. He does still keep in contact with you, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And? What is he doing?”

Blast Kael’s lateness. Rommath did not have anything new to report. “As ever, he continues to work to bring us new sources of arcane energy.”

“As he has been doing for months?”

“Are you questioning the Prince’s actions?” Rommath said, his voice low and menacing.

“No,” said Lor’themar, “But I want details. Where, exactly, is he, and what, exactly, is he doing? I am the Regent Lord and it is my right to know more than what you have opted to tell me, so I know how best to prepare our people.”

He had a point, and Rommath didn’t know if he could counter it. As much as he hated to admit it, Lor’themar outranked him. Now to see how many of the details he could leave out.

“The Prince has set up a base of operations in Netherstorm, where he has developed devices that are capable of harvesting mana from the Twisting Nether. Some of these devices have been deployed.”

“And they are working as intended?

Rommath actually hadn’t heard, but he had no doubts that they were. “Yes.”

“And this mana is supposed to sustain our people when we move to Outland.”

“Precisely.”

“Then why are we still waiting here?”

Again, Rommath didn’t know. He would, perhaps, if Kael’thas ever actually talked to him anymore, but…

“The land in Netherstorm is hostile. It must be tamed.”

Halduron finally spoke up now, starting with a chuckle that irked Rommath with how… wholesome it sounded. “And since when did elves need a land to be tamed before moving in?”

“Netherstorm is not Quel’Thalas,” said Rommath. “The very land is constantly ripping itself apart—”

“Perhaps because of these devices of yours,” Halduron interrupted. “Has that occurred to His Highness?”

Rommath’s eyes narrowed. “We are not having this discussion again. Although I must ask, Halduron, would you have preferred to have left with the rest of the quel’dorei when—”

Lor’themar twitched an eyebrow and broke in. “That’s enough of this. We’re here to discuss the future, not the past.” He looked at Rommath. “Is the Prince planning on visiting Quel’Thalas anytime soon, do you know?”

“I do not know,” Rommath replied. “He has been—”

“Busy. Yes, I know.” Lor’themar sighed. “And I do not suppose he would be terribly interested in a visit in the near future?”

“That is doubtful.”

“Well, just keep me informed, I suppose,” said Lor’themar. He looked tired, and Rommath opted to use this to his advantage.

The mage stood and took his staff in his hands. “If we are done with this meeting, I will be going. I am certain that you have much to do yourself, and I do not wish to take more of the Regent Lord’s time… or the Ranger-General’s, for that matter.” He shot Halduron a brief glare, although the ranger seemed unfazed.

“Thank you for your time,” said Lor’themar. As Rommath had guessed, he was just as eager to get the meeting over with as the others were. So the Grand Magister exited the room and as soon as he had done so, he teleported himself back to his study.

He had hardly arrived when he knew that Kael’thas had been trying to contact him— he could both sense and see the pulsing arcane energy emanating from his scrying stone. He disappeared from where he was standing and then reappeared in front of the stone in the blink of an eye, placing a hand on it to make a connection and then casting a spell. Once the spell was complete he stood back a bit, and a small image of Kael’thas appeared, hovering above the stone. The prince had always been a bit of a riddle, but now he seemed to be more of one than usual. He stood tall, but gave off the impression of being nervous or perhaps rushed. He looked haggard, but despite this he still exuded more power than any other being Rommath had met. The Grand Magister bowed deeply. “My liege.”

“Rommath. I apologize for my lateness. Some… pressing issues have come to a head lately.” His image raised an eyebrow and looked directly at the Grand Magister. “We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do,” Rommath agreed, and he was glad that Kael’thas would finally be able to give him more details about how things were progressing— details which he could then pass on to Lor’themar in small doses. Mostly so the Regent Lord would stop pestering him. “Shall we begin?”

“Here? Now?” Kael’thas seemed taken off guard, almost confused.

Rommath blinked and found himself briefly concerned by this uncharacteristic response, but then he pushed it out of his mind. “If not here, or now, then—”

“I need you to come to Outland,” said Kael’thas. “As I believe you know, I have set up base in Netherstorm, in a naaru fortress called Tempest Keep. Meet me here as soon as possible.”

Again, Rommath was knocked almost speechless by how unusual the prince was acting. Could something have been wrong? “Is everything alright?” he asked.

“Better than that,” Kael’thas replied, and he smirked a little. “There is much to discuss, but only when you arrive. Do make haste. I trust you can find your way here on your own?”

Rommath nodded. He had not been to Outland in a few years, but between people that he knew and his own skills in teleportation, getting around would not be a problem. “Yes, my liege.”

“I will see you soon, then,” said Kael’thas, and the image flickered away.

Rommath was, briefly, stunned. Whatever the Prince had to say, it was not only urgent but apparently had to be kept under utmost secrecy. Off the top of his head, he couldn’t think of anything Kael’thas might have to say that fulfilled both of those criteria. But then, Kael had never been wrong before.

Maltrake was in the corner of the room, organizing a bookshelf. Rommath called for him, and the servant rushed over. “Yes, sir?”

“Could you relay to the Regent Lord that I am away on urgent business?” the Grand Magister said. “If he asks, tell him that it involves Prince Kael’thas.”

“Of course, sir.”

Rommath nodded his appreciation and then, holding up his hands, began to cast a spell. His entire being filled with a glowing, intensifying warmth as his hands glowed, and just as the warmth began to feel almost unbearable he left Azeroth entirely behind.


	2. Chapter 2

Rommath arrived in Shattrath City to a population that was apparently very wary of him. Despite the fact that the city served as a strictly-enforced neutral meeting point for many races and factions, the coldness that was exhibited towards him, in particular, caught him off guard. The many draenei that milled about looked at him with utter disgust and hatred, just like they reacted towards any blood elf, but the reactions of Rommath’s own people were scarcely an improvement. Ultimately this did not bother him, as with few exceptions, they were Scryers— deserters and traitors— and he himself was the Prince’s right-hand man. They clearly recognized this and hated him for his own superiority and loyalty.

He did not intend to stay long in the city and was very soon arranging plans with the flight masters for hasty transport to Netherstorm when he noticed that an elf was standing beside him, seemingly waiting for him. At first Rommath ignored him, as he didn’t have time for what he was sure was an irrelevant question, but when the young man did not seem to be getting the hint, the Grand Magister turned to face him. He was wearing the tabard of the Scryers, a fact that Rommath noted with some distaste, but before he could think much on this, the elf was talking. “Excuse me, sir. You are Grand Magister Rommath, are you not?”

“Who else would I be?” Rommath snapped, irked that this young boy was wasting time asking things he obviously already knew. “Do you have something to say to me?”

The young sin’dorei was startled into bowing a bit before stating, “Forgive me. Voren’thal the Seer has learned of your presence and requests an audience with you.”

This actually caused Rommath to pause. So, the very leader of the deserters himself wanted to talk with him. Why? To grovel and apologize? Or perhaps to berate him? Rommath had long held a suspicion that Voren’thal was jealous of the fact that he had never held the rank of Grand Magister, and that now it was held by someone several centuries his junior. Oh, it would be fun, almost, to visit the old man. But no— whatever the seer’s reasons were, it couldn’t be that important. The Scryers were traitors and no longer mattered. Besides, he was on a strict timetable.

“Tell Voren’thal that I don’t think his aging heart could take a visit from me,” Rommath replied, and promptly turned his back on the messenger, returning to his discussion with the flight masters. His sensitive hearing could hear him walking away soon after, and Rommath quickly forgot about the incident and was in the air on a wyvern, flying northeast towards Netherstorm.

They flew over the thick, verdant forests of Terokkar, over the cracked orange wastelands of Hellfire Peninsula— this was a landscape that Rommath knew well and had been hoping to never see again, at least not in its current barren state— and finally through the Twisting Nether itself before they reached land again.

If Rommath was to pick one word to describe Netherstorm, it would be “broken”. He could see why almost immediately: the place was wracked with constant storms that were clearly magical in nature, and the immense amounts of arcane power that ripped through the land tinted the entire place its telltale violet hue. Rommath could see why Kael’thas had chosen to make this his base: it was nearly impossible to tell where the land itself ended and the Twisting Nether began, and the area was saturated in magic that could be easily used by the elves for their own purposes. And as if that wasn’t enough— and perhaps it wouldn’t be— Netherstorm was dotted with the manaforges that Rommath had told Lor’themar about earlier. These great machines ripped magic out of the land itself, and Rommath was impressed with their power and practicality. Truly Kael’thas was the visionary that their people needed to get back on the right track. It was true that the manaforges seemed to be causing even more damage to the land, as Halduron had correctly suspected, but was that not a price that was worth paying for a new, reliable source of arcane magic, now that the Sunwell was lost?

The wyvern set down in a tiny outpost called Cosmowrench that was staffed primarily by goblins. They seemed to be busy as Rommath arrived, which actually did not bother him terribly because he wanted to get a feel for the land— its magic, in particular. It was truly intoxicating, being surrounded by tendrils of arcane power. He raised his head a bit and breathed in, as if to sniff the air, and he could feel its magic flow into him like a warm stream. It was familiar, comforting. It wasn’t the same sort of magic that the Sunwell had provided them with. No, this was… raw and unrefined. But something about that made it all the more intriguing. Perhaps just another taste…

…but no. He would not let himself go overboard. The Grand Magister had seen, firsthand, the side effects of uncontrolled access to untempered magic. No… it was the duty of the blood elves to seek balance in all things, and especially in magic usage.

He didn’t have time to think much more on this because a goblin approached him now. “Well now, did one of you elves decide to leave your big fancy floaty sky castle? It’s not too often I see anyone going in or out of there.”

Rommath ignored the comment. Goblins would be goblins. He craned his neck and looked up at the massive fortress floating far, far above them in the nether. It seemed to consist of four different pieces: three small fortresses (”small” being a relative term in this case, of course), and one central one that was several times larger than the others combined. He guessed that this was where Kael’thas was based. “Do you have a wyvern that can get me up there?”

“For the right price, we’ve got anything,” the goblin replied. Of course.

Rommath handed the goblin a few gold coins, and upon taking them the goblin turned around and snapped his fingers, yelling something to another goblin. This second goblin was tending a rather large wyvern who was nesting a little while away, and he beckoned Rommath over. The Grand Magister approached and this goblin patted the large wyvern’s neck. “This one’s a real mean flying machine. She’ll get you up there no problem.” The goblin tilted his head, now, and peered at Rommath. “You gonna need a ride back down? Cause if you pay for the return trip now we’ll get you 10% off the price! How’s that for a deal?”

“I can get back down on my own again, thank you,” Rommath replied. He was a powerful enough mage that he could teleport to most places that he had been before, so now that he was standing in Cosmowrench, returning wouldn’t be a problem.

The goblin looked somewhat disappointed, but shrugged. “I can’t say I always understand you mages,” he said. “But hey, who am I to understand magic? Anyways, hop on whenever you’re ready.”

The wyvern bowed low, and Rommath climbed on. Immediately the powerful beast took off, beating her huge wings and taking them high, high up into the Twisting Nether.

The higher they flew, the more intoxicating the magic around them became. It was all Rommath could do not to reach up and treat himself to the ribbons of the arcane that wafted around him and his mount. This was truly a land of plenty— especially for a mage. But on the other hand, how could Kael's followers resist the constant temptation? The mental fortitude required to do such a thing must have been immense.

He could not put much more thought into this, however, because then the wyvern alighted itself on the edge of the gigantic fortress that was the Eye of Tempest Keep. It lowered itself, allowing Rommath to slide off, and then immediately the creature was off, the gusts caused by its huge immense wings blowing a few loose strands of the Grand Magister’s hair back.

He turned and faced the entrance, which was flanked on either end by two Crimson Hand Blood Knights. One of them spoke up. “Grand Magister Rommath. The Prince has been expecting you.”

Rommath nodded at them as they unlocked the door to the fortress and let him enter. The door closed behind him with a bang that reverberated through the violet and rose colored entryway, and Rommath found himself facing a blond elf dressed in crimson red robes. He smiled, and the way he did was somehow unsettling, but Rommath quickly forgot about it as the man began speaking. “ _Bal'a dash_ , Grand Magister. It’s good to meet you. I am Ambassador Solannas, Prince Kael’thas’ representative.” He bowed. “The Prince has always spoken highly of you.”

“Is that so? He has never mentioned you,” Rommath replied. He could sense false diplomacy a mile away and this elf was dripping with it.

Solannas smiled thinly and his emerald eyes glittered a bit in the light— that strange glittering being a telltale sign of a sin’dorei mage, or any blood elf who dabbled in a bit too much magic. “I have also heard of your sharp tongue,” he said smoothly. “But that alone will not do you any favors here. Power is what matters. Power, and loyalty to Prince Kael’thas.”

Rommath had had enough of the pointless verbal sparring. “Speaking of the Prince, he is here, is he not? I’m told he has urgent matters to discuss with me.”

“He is here. Come. I will take you to him. I’m sure you’re eager to see our little fortress, as well.” Solannas turned on his heel and Rommath followed.

The fortress was just as immense on the inside as it looked on the outside, and mazes of tunnels led to side rooms as well as a gigantic central area. The place was at once beautiful and alien, although it had very much been taken over by the blood elves, who occupied its every corner. The forces gathered here by Kael’thas were formidable indeed, although there was something about them that Rommath did not like. The looks on their faces were that of pure determination but also obedience, and, the Grand Magister mused, they almost seemed like very well trained guard dogs. Deadly, but ultimately completely subservient. And while a part of him thought that this would be to their advantage, another part of him found this distasteful. The sin’dorei, after all, should bow to no one.

After some amount of walking they arrived at the back of Tempest Keep and there was Kael’thas Sunstrider himself, flanked by four specialist guardians who, Rommath guessed, were probably more powerful than all of the other soldiers in the fortress combined. Kael’thas himself was very clearly a member of the ancient Sunstrider line, between the tall height, the high cheekbones, chiseled features, and hair the color of spun gold. His emerald eyes seemed to brighten as soon as he saw Rommath, and the Grand Magister and Ambassador Solannas both bowed deeply as soon as they approached.

“Thank you for coming, Rommath,” said the Prince, and as usual his voice was smooth as silk. “I apologize for such short notice. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Solannas—” Kael’thas turned to face the Ambassador. “I have a new assignment for you. My advisers shall relay the instructions to you.” Solannas bowed, again, and Kael turned back to Rommath. “Grand Magister. We have much to discuss. Come with me.”

“Of course, my liege,” Rommath replied, and he followed the tall, golden-haired prince into a side room. Kael’thas waved a hand as soon as they were both inside, and the door closed.

The room seemed to be some kind of office or study. There was a desk littered with books and paperwork and chairs on either side of it and, in the corner, a well-worn scrying stone. Kael motioned for Rommath to sit, which he did, and then the Prince himself sat opposite him, not bothering to clear the desk. Kael’thas got down to business. “How are things in Quel’Thalas?”

“Progressing nicely, I would think. We continue to rebuild. The entire eastern portion of the city has been built almost back up to how it was before the Third War. Work on the western side is slower, but—”

Kael’thas interrupted him sharply. “And you still have that naaru, what was its name? M’uru?”

Rommath was a bit startled by the sudden change in topic. “Yes. Our Blood Knights harness its holy energy for our own use.”

“As you told me soon after you and Astalor began working on that project,” Kael said, and he leaned back in his chair a bit. Rommath took the opportunity to take a good look at his prince. He did appear hassled, just as his image had not long before. But he still appeared healthy enough and in full control of his faculties. He did seem to be acting a bit oddly, but Rommath couldn’t quite put his finger on exactly why.

The Grand Magister decided to continue talking about their original topic. “As for the Regent Lord, he is doing, I believe, a passable job. He is no King, of course, but Silvermoon is certainly doing well enough under his leadership.”

Kael’thas did not respond. He seemed distant and distracted, staring at the wall across from him rather than at the mage in front of him.

“My prince?” Rommath pressed him.

“Yes. Sorry.” Kael’thas shook himself back into the present and looked Rommath directly in the eyes now. “Allow me to get right to the point. For far too long the sin’dorei have been stuck behind those who are weak and flawed. First the New Alliance, then Illidan.” He spat the last name out almost like it was a curse. “But all of these people cared about themselves and themselves only. We are used for our skill in magic, and then tossed away when we are no longer necessary. You saw this yourself in Dalaran.”

Rommath nodded and gritted his teeth, forgetting, for a moment, everything but his hatred for the Kirin Tor.

“Needless to say, I’ve decided it was time for a change,” Kael’thas said. He leaned forward, his eyes a bright, burning emerald. “I’ve made a new pact.”

“I see,” said Rommath. He couldn’t think of whom that might be with. Who else, even, was in Outland? Certainly he hadn’t formed any sort of pact with the draenei or naaru. And surely the native races of Draenor— the orcs, the arakkoa, the ogres— were all too primitive or too broken to be of much use.

The prince began talking again. “I want you to imagine, Rommath,” he said, “Unlimited power. Unlimited energy. Unlimited access to any world we want. Without fear of reprisal from the Alliance or the Kirin Tor or anyone else.”

Rommath squinted a bit. “Too much is dangerous for the blood elves,” he said. “You’ve seen the Wretched. You’ve seen what happens with unlimited magical intake. Unless you are speaking of something else.”

“I am speaking of something greater. I am speaking of power the likes of which no mortal has tasted. But we can, Rommath. And with it, our people can finally have the justice that we deserve!” He pounded his fist on the table, and his eyes were so bright with fel magic that for a fleeting half second Kael’thas looked like a demon himself. That made something itch in the very back of Rommath’s mind briefly, but then it was gone again.

“Who, then, is this new ally?” the Grand Magister asked at last. He knew that Kael’thas had a bit of a flair for the dramatic, and if he didn’t ask then he might not get a straight answer for a while.

Kael’thas paused, now, as though considering if he should say or not. He seemed to be appraising Rommath, and this made the Grand Magister uncomfortable on more than one level. Did the Prince not trust him? Or was the information he was now considering sharing truly that sensitive? Either way, Rommath didn’t like it.

“Rommath,” Kael’thas said at length, and there was a rusty edge to his voice now. “There is only one master worth allying with.”

_Master_ . Rommath felt his blood run cold. Surely he wasn’t suggesting… he couldn’t possibly be… no. No, he couldn’t be. Rommath wasn’t hearing this right. Kael’thas wouldn’t do this.

“Think about it,” Kael’thas continued, and his voice was lower, raspier. “It’s the right choice. The right choice for Quel’Thalas. The right choice for the sin’dorei.”

Rommath couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It couldn’t be real, could it? Kael’thas couldn’t possibly be talking about… “…the Burning Legion?” Rommath whispered.

“True power,” Kael’thas said, and he was almost whispering himself now. “It’s in our reach, and they are the ones offering it.”

Rommath was incredulous. He didn’t know what to say simply because he was still having difficulties processing what he was hearing. Kael’thas was honestly suggesting that they ally with the Burning Legion— if he hadn’t covertly allied them already. A piece of him was desperately wondering if this was some sort of dream, if any of this was even real at all, but another piece of him somehow knew that it was, in fact, real. Kael’thas would stop at nothing for revenge. He would even do this.

The Prince’s eyes were searching him now, waiting for an answer, and Rommath knew he had to say  _something_ . “Who… who else knows of this?” he finally managed to blurt out.

“So far just my closest advisers,” Kael’thas said. His voice had returned to normal, as if nothing was wrong. “But it doesn’t matter who knows. The loyalty of the Sunfury is unparalleled. Most of the them will follow me wherever I lead them to. Those who do not, will be… culled.” He shrugged.

A knot clenched somewhere inside Rommath, just underneath his racing heart. There were already so few of them left and now the Prince spoke of killing more of them as though they were runts in a litter. He could feel his disgust rise into his throat, and suddenly he felt very ill.

Kael’thas noticed his reaction. “Do you disagree?”

“No, of course not,” Rommath replied before he even knew what he was saying, and as soon as the words had left his mouth they startled him.

Kael’thas smiled. “Good. I am glad to have my Grand Magister on my side. I always knew there was greatness inside of you.”

The praise flew right past Rommath, who was still both queasy and desperately trying to figure out how to process and then salvage the situation. Because surely this situation was still salvageable. Kael’thas might have gotten carried away up here, but ultimately he was still doing what he thought was best for his people. So if there was a way to dissuade him from his current path, then…

“Well, I am glad that’s settled,” said Kael’thas, standing up. “Come with me. I’d like to give you the grand tour.” A wave of his hand opened the door, and then he exited and Rommath was, briefly, alone in the cramped study before he got up and followed his prince.

He spent the next few hours following Kael’thas around as the Prince showed off the interior workings of the great naaru fortress and talked of the details regarding its administration. Rommath, for the most part, did not pay attention to any of this. His mind was a blur and he focused largely on nodding along and pretending to listen to what the Prince was telling him. The few times that he did pay attention disturbed him, for the fortress’s shiny violet walls were dripping with corruption and blind obedience. After a while they ended up in an immense dining hall and here they stopped for a meal. Despite the fact that he had not eaten in several hours, Rommath had next to no appetite. He did eventually force most of his meal down, primarily to avoid rousing Kael’thas’ suspicions, but soon afterwards he wished he hadn’t.

At some point as they were finishing up the meal a guard arrived and whispered something to Kael’thas, who didn’t seem to be concerned by whatever this news was. Instead he wiped his mouth with a napkin and nodded before turning to face Rommath. “Will you be staying? Do you need quarters?”

Of course he wouldn’t be. He was feeling increasingly claustrophobic here and, besides, he needed some time to himself to actually think and sort out his thoughts on the debacle that had unfolded itself over the last few hours. “I am afraid I have business elsewhere,” he said. “Thank you for the offer, however.”

Kael’thas looked at him oddly, and Rommath looked back at him unflinchingly— he had to. He couldn’t let the Prince see what he was really thinking. “Well,” Kael’thas said at length, “Thank you for your visit. It is good to know that I can trust you to stand by my side.” He stood, and Rommath followed suit. “I am afraid that Ambassador Solannas has… run into issues, and will not be able to accompany you out.”

“It’s fine, I can teleport myself out,” said Rommath, desperate at this point to get away.

“I assumed as much, but I wanted to make sure,” said Kael’thas. He took a few steps towards the Grand Magister and lowered his voice a bit. “Do not tell Lor’themar about our new plans. Or anyone, for that matter. Not yet. I have unfinished business to take care of first.”

“Yes… my liege.” He shocked himself firstly with the fact that he was verbally agreeing with Kael’thas, and secondly with the fact that he was, at least for the time being, still answering to Kael’thas.

Which meant that he was answering to the Burning Legion.

He couldn’t take any more. He raised his hands and began channeling the teleportation spell, glad that he was skilled enough to be able to do so even under the immense amount of stress he was in. He did not look at Kael as he cast his spell, and soon the pink and purple walls of Tempest Keep gave way and were replaced by the open air and the cracked, violet badlands of Netherstorm. He was down at Cosmowrench again. He was safe.

And upon realizing this, the food he had forced himself to eat, the dizzying after-effects of the teleportation, and the thought of everything he had seen and heard over the last few hours all came to a head, and he leaned over and retched.

Once he had finished he was rather embarrassed to look up and see the goblin flight master standing nearby, looking at him with concern. “You okay there, chief?”

Had it been any other time, or perhaps any other person, Rommath would have responded sharply. But as it was he lacked the energy to do so, and besides, he felt oddly touched by the goblin’s concern. The Prince of Quel’Thalas was allying with the Burning Legion and a goblin was being altruistic. What a world.

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” he said. “Can you get me a wyvern to Area 52?” He didn’t think he had it in him to make another teleport so soon.

The goblin nodded and the next few minutes were a blur as he hollered something to an associate and then money was exchanging hands and then Rommath was seated on a sturdy wyvern headed the short distance to Area 52— the largest neutral settlement in Netherstorm, although that wasn’t saying very much.

Rommath felt both mentally and physically exhausted upon his arrival and immediately asked for a room at the local inn. For a brief while he sat at the edge of the tiny bed provided, trying to piece together everything that had happened over the course of the last few hours, but he was still having trouble processing it, so finally he decided to give up on it for now and sleep on it instead.

Falling asleep was, of course, not the easiest task, and once he finally did manage to do so it was fitful and frequently interrupted by disturbing dreams.

So when he awoke the next morning he was tired and cranky and had a blasted, throbbing headache to top it off. Without saying farewell to anyone in the inn— he had already paid them, after all, so why bother— he raised his hands and teleported himself out of the room and directly to Shattrath City.

When he materialized he saw Voren’thal the Seer standing directly in front of him.


	3. Chapter 3

Voren’thal’s age was showing.

That wasn’t something one saw among the elves very often— especially after the Third War. His hair had long ago turned snowy white, his long eyebrows were thin and wispy, and his face bore the wrinkles of what must have been nearly three thousand years. But his eyes— glowing green now, of course— were sharp, and his features were elegant. Rommath looked at him with some amount of distaste. He was not the person he wanted to see at the moment. Or any moment, really.

So Rommath turned to leave without saying anything, but Voren’thal put a hand on his shoulder and immediately Rommath could sense the teleportation spell that the seer was casting. Quickly he attempted a counterspell, but either Voren’thal somehow blocked it or Rommath himself was still too weak and distracted to do much casting. Either way, within seconds they were in a small study and with a wave of his hand Voren’thal called up two chairs, which magically slid over to them. Then, the seer seated himself and motioned for Rommath to do the same, as though all of this was an everyday occurrence.

But Rommath, who felt like he had seen enough study rooms recently to last him many centuries, was not impressed. “What is the meaning of this?” he spat out, refusing to sit. He glanced around; there seemed to be no way in or out of this room other than teleportation. And since he had no idea where they were— the magical aura of the place suggested that they were still in Shattrath, but he couldn’t be sure— he was stuck, since risking a teleport from an unknown location would be risky at best and dangerous at worst. How vexing.

“I know about Kael’thas,” Voren’thal said, as though he were simply talking about the weather. Rommath froze, but Voren’thal continued, “Come now. Sit down and we’ll have a talk about it.”

The Grand Magister didn’t seem to have much of a choice, and maybe the old man knew some details that he didn’t. He had been in Outland all this time, after all.

So Rommath sat, but his arms were crossed and he glared across the room at Voren’thal. He might have to stay here, for now, but he didn’t have to be happy about it.

Voren’thal, meanwhile, didn’t care about Rommath’s display of pigheadedness. There was a corner table next to his seat which held a teakettle and accompanying cup, the latter of which was currently being magically stirred by an enchanted teaspoon. Voren’thal reached over and tapped on it twice with the side of a finger to get the stirring to stop, then removed the spoon, daintily took hold of the cup and took a sip. After savoring this he looked over at Rommath. “Did you want some? It’s a local special. Terocone.”

“No.”

Voren’thal chuckled, clearly amused by kids these days, and took another sip.

Rommath, however, was getting tired of waiting. “What do you know about Kael’thas?”

“What do  _you_ know about Kael’thas?” Voren’thal said, and again, he sounded almost casual as he asked it.

Rommath paused, now, as he wondered if this was some sort of trick. Perhaps Voren’thal did not, in fact, know anything about Kael’thas. What if this was all a trick, to probe Rommath for information?

But Voren’thal wasn’t just any mage. He was a seer. The ability to soothsay was a rather rare gift among their people; it tended to crop up more frequently among races that held an especially strong connection to either the earth or the Light. The elves were magical in nature, and seers and prophets were not among their tradition. But over the years Voren’thal has proved his unique talent, and thus his worth, again and again: he could see things that others could not. Besides, he had lived in Outland for the last several months and heard and seen anything that had been going on. No— if anyone knew the truth of what was going on, it was him. Even Rommath had to begrudgingly admit that.

“Kael’thas has allied us with the Burning Legion,” Rommath said.

“No. He has not.” Voren’thal said this with such conviction that Rommath could almost tangibly feel a wave of hope and relief wash over him. He had somehow misheard the Prince’s words, then. He didn’t even care that it meant he had been wrong. At this point, he desperately wanted to be wrong.

But then Voren’thal continued, “He has not allied us with the Burning Legion. He has allied  _himself_ with the Burning Legion.”

And all of the hope and relief drained from Rommath’s features and he felt empty again— and that emptiness was almost immediately replaced by irritation. “He is the Prince,” he sneered. “Have you forgotten? What he does affects us all.”

“It affects us all, yes, but we do not have to answer to him,” Voren’thal said calmly. “Let him go off and ruin himself. We— the sin’dorei— can turn from him and make our own path.”

“Do you know nothing of loyalty?” Rommath spat. “Oh, right. You don’t. You lead the Scryers, the largest group of traitors in our nation’s history.”

“You speak of loyalty? You wish to be loyal to the one who will destroy us all? Destroy our people? Destroy our country? If you thought the Scourge were bad, you’re really going to be in for a treat when the Burning Legion show up at our doorstep.” Voren’thal had actually raised his voice here, but just a little. Now he calmly took another sip of tea and then moved to refill his cup.

Rommath was speechless. He felt as though a million things were running through his head and he was finding it impossible to process them. What the seer said was true. He knew it. By allying with the Legion, their Prince was driving them down a path of destruction.

But on the other side of the coin was the Sunstrider dynasty. The backbone of their legacy. The noble blood that had first made them quel’dorei— those of high birth— and now made them sin’dorei— those honoring that blood and that birthright. For seven thousand years that backbone had stood tall and proud.

And now… now he was being asked to betray all of that.

Rommath suddenly felt tired. Had he been alone, he would have rubbed his temples and forehead in dual frustration and exhaustion, but he didn’t want to show Voren’thal any sign of weakness, so he looked straight ahead at the seer and said nothing.

After refilling his cup, Voren’thal leaned back in his chair and looked across at the Grand Magister with an expression that was almost amused. “I was a lot like you, once,” he said. “Ambitious. Stubborn. I had my first real taste of conflict during the Troll Wars. I was about your age. A little younger, maybe.”

“And you’re going to tell me some life lesson you learned from all this and attempt to apply it to my own life, I presume?” Rommath said.

“Oh no. I didn’t learn any sort of life lesson from the Troll Wars, really. Not at the time, anyway. But looking back on it now I see that I was a proud young man, bottling up the fact that inside I was as skittish as a hawkstrider hatchling.” He looked Rommath in the eyes now. “And you are too. You’ll deny it, but it’s the truth, and you know it. And I’m going to ask you to do a tough task, which is to set that anxiety aside as you think about what you’re going to do next. You are in a unique position here. You are close to Kael’thas but also distanced from him. You, more than anyone else, are a liaison between the Sunfury forces and our people back home in Quel’Thalas. And you are going to have to think very carefully on what you do with that position.”

The weight of Voren’thal’s words sunk in. It was true: as far as Rommath could tell, Kael’thas still trusted him fully. He wasn’t so sure about the opinions of Lor’themar and Halduron— he guessed that they largely worked with him out of necessity, but even if they didn’t trust him they would, at least, probably be surprised if he were to suddenly turn on them.

So here he was, caught between crown and country, and what he did next could very well have implications for both.

A thought struck him, suddenly. “What do you see happening? You’re a seer. Surely if anyone can help our people decide the best course of action, it would be you.”

“The future is often clouded, Grand Magister,” Voren’thal replied evenly. “There have not been enough events set in motion yet. I see multiple paths. And multiple futures for each path. I can tell you what I do see. And what I see are dark times. And rebirth.”

“Dark times? Rebirth? Are you sure you’re not talking about the past and the Scourge Invasion?” Rommath was only half sarcastic here. “And our people were already reborn as the sin’dorei— Kael’thas is the one who declared it so.”

“No,” said Voren’thal almost dreamingly, and he squinted his eyes and peered at the distance, as though he was looking at something far beyond the walls that confined them. “I see dark shadows, and I see radiant light… and I see… that the rebirth of the sin’dorei has not occurred yet.” He refocused his eyes on Rommath’s face and broke free of his reverie. “The hour is always darkest just before dawn. And dawn, my young friend, is a ways off. Can we successfully close that gap? I cannot say.”

The riddles and shrouded messages were beginning to irritate the Grand Magister. Now that the seer had made his points, Rommath wanted to be alone so he could digest them. “Do you have anything more to say, or would you be so kind as to tell me where I am so I can leave?”

“I believe I’ve said everything I wish to say,” Voren’thal replied. “You are in Shattrath, in the library on Scryer’s Tier. Speaking of which, I would advise you to spend a few minutes in the city before you leave, talking and listening to the locals. They are a potent source of… useful information.”

Rommath picked up on what the older man meant, and inwardly agreed, although he did not say so. Instead he stood up and teleported himself out of the room without a word.

He rematerialized near the flight master, glad to be out of the claustrophobic and door-less room. As much as he hated to admit it, however, the talk with Voren’thal had done him some good. It was nerve-wracking to have to keep a secret alone, and at least there was one other person out there who understood what he was going through. And although a part of him wished that it had been someone  _other_ than the leader of the Scryers, at least it was a fellow mage— and a talented one, too, Rommath begrudgingly accepted.

By that point he had not eaten in quite some time and he was starting to feel hungry, so he decided to find a meal before heading out. Doing so would give him a chance to listen for gossip, as Voren’thal had advised him to do. Shattrath City bustled with people from all walks of life and from more than one world, and he had no doubt that the entire place was bursting with information waiting to be found.

His meal came by way of the World’s End Tavern, which was a ruined draenei temple that had been rather unceremoniously converted into a pub. Rommath, not wanting to make himself the center of attention, sat somewhat away from most of the rest of the patrons, but made sure that they were still within earshot of his sharp hearing.

And as he had expected, much of what he heard disturbed him.

He heard of Sunfury forces desperately guarding places that had long ago stopped being points of interest, merely because Kael’thas had, at some point, told them to and then forgotten about them. They were the frequent targets of treasure hunters and mercenaries and many had been killed.

He heard of a few blood elves who had defected from the Sunfury entirely and were now living in hiding among the Scryers, or elsewhere.

He heard talk of how Kael’thas was insane, about how according to rumor and defectors many of his followers now suspected as such and only followed him out of fear.

And he heard of plans made by roving adventurers to besiege the fortress of Tempest Keep itself for various reasons, whether those were motivated by simple greed or by a sense of duty.

He heard it all, and every bit made Rommath’s heart ache a bit more inside as it reinforced what he already knew: that everything the sin’dorei had been working towards for the past few years had been a lie.

“You gonna eat dat?” Rommath was interrupted by the gruff voice of an ogre whose head nearly touched the tavern’s ceiling. The mage looked up at him, and the ogre continued, “If you not gonna eat, me… volunteer to take it from tiny elf.”

“Lay off him, Raliq,” said a woman’s voice, and a slender, red-headed blood elf in a blue top and long maroon skirt approached them. “Don’t you owe somebody money?”

“Me not paying up when hungry!” the ogre protested, but he complied and moved away, mumbling to himself.

The blood elf looked down at Rommath, and Rommath looked up at her. He could see now that she was a server, if her name tag, which read “Kylene”, was any indication. She was certainly not the first sin’dorei that Rommath had seen since arriving back in Shattrath that morning, but there was a certain shrewdness in her eyes that actually comforted him. Finally, someone around here who actually reminded him of home and wasn’t caught up in either fighting or repelling some sort of war.

Kylene winked at him. “You’re new in town, aren’t you, hotshot?” she said in Thalassian.

“I’ve been around,” Rommath replied, and began to dig into his food in earnest for the first time since it had been served to him.

She tilted her head and peered at him with her glowing green eyes. “You’re not one of the Sunfury and you’re not one of the Scryers. I don’t think you’re an adventurer or treasure hunter— you’re too well-dressed. No, you’re fresh from Quel’Thalas. Tell me, what’s an elf like you doing all the way up here?”

Despite himself, Rommath couldn’t help but smile a bit. Someone among them still had spirit, at least. He finished chewing his fish and then said “I could very well ask the same about you. What are  _you_ doing up here?”

“Surviving,” Kylene replied. “But aren’t we all?”

Rommath didn’t have to ask to know that by “we” she meant the sin’dorei. And surviving was, indeed, all they had been doing for the last few years. It was all they could do, and it was wearing them noticeably thin. Perhaps that was what had finally gotten to Kael’thas and made him snap. Perhaps…

Kylene peered at him for a moment and then reached into her pocket and pulled out something small and glowing which she set on the table. A mana crystal. “You look like you need this more than I do right now,” she said quietly. “Let me know if you need anything to drink,” she added, a bit louder, before moving off.

Rommath watched her go, and then peered down at the mana crystal. He could both see and sense the arcane energy that permeated it, and he was, of course, drawn to its pull almost against his will. He realized that it had actually been a little while since he had allowed himself to feed on magic, and in his stressed state it might actually help. So he reached out with a hand and gently cupped it around the crystal. He pulled it towards himself, tapping the arcane energies inside as he did so, and he could immediately feel its power and relief coursing through him. It energized him, gave him hope, and above all, felt like  _home_ . There was a time when a more moderate form of this feeling pulsed through the veins of their race every minute of every day, but that felt like a lifetime ago. Now this was all they had.

The Grand Magister leaned back in his chair and allowed himself to indulge on the fel magic trapped within the tiny crystal, feeling its energy suffuse him, and then, all too quickly, it was over. The feeling subsided and Rommath opened his eyes as well as his closed fist to reveal the dark, deadened stone that now lay there.

He stared at it for a moment. There were days when he felt like that dead crystal. Used, worn, drained. He remembered that their race collectively felt that way in the first rough months following the Third War and the fall of the Sunwell. The vast majority of those months were a blur in Rommath’s mind, now. He remembered constantly feeling sick and nauseated; he remembered losing weight and his hair falling out in clumps; he remembered waking up dizzy and in a cold sweat and with a throbbing headache and a violent, dominating craving that could not be quenched.

And yet he and so many others had persevered despite it all. Had followed Kael’thas to Dalaran. Had then followed him to Outland. Had fought countless battles against countless foes before Illidan had finally taught them how to draw the magic they so desperately needed from other sources.

No… no, the sin’dorei had never been that darkened stone.

And they were not going to be, either. Not while Rommath was around. He would make sure of that.

He finished his meal and stepped outside the tavern. He took one last minute to glance around Shattrath City before realizing that he wished never to see it or the rest of Outland again, so he raised his hands and summoned up the energy needed for a long distance teleport, and then he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Rommath was stressed.

He had spent the last few days trying— but failing— to contact Kael’thas through the scrying stone. And yet the prince either could not or would not respond. The stone remained cold and unresponsive, and Rommath’s continued attempts to start a new connection were not working.

So it was that after yet another failed try, Rommath sighed and went about his other business. He felt prickly and volatile, as though if something poked him he might burst apart.

After much inner debate, he had opted not to tell Lor’themar and Halduron what he knew about Kael’thas. It was a risk, for many reasons. It could end up putting him under scrutiny, or worse, have some sort of larger ill effect on sin’dorei as a whole. But he was banking on being able to change Kael’thas. To talk him out of whatever he had planned. He was convinced that it was possible. That if anyone out there could talk Kael’thas out of his cursed path, it would be himself, the one the prince trusted more than anyone else. Surely, Kael’thas was just tired and stressed like the rest of them?

Rommath’s knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists from stress. He had to do it. He had to succeed. The blood elves needed their backbone. Without it, they would surely fall.

The Grand Magister’s attempt to do other things and distract himself from the task at hand was short-lived, for a few hours later he was back at the stone, desperately hoping that there was someone at the other end who could sense what he was trying to do and contact Kael’thas for him. “Answer, damn you,” he muttered to himself, a loose strand of dark hair falling in front of his face as he leaned over the stone. He didn’t even bother to brush it away.

“Sir,” a voice spoke up near him. It was Maltrake. Rommath hadn’t noticed his servant's entrance and jumped a bit. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” he snapped, irritated partially with Maltrake, partially with Kael’thas, and partially with himself.

“Sir, if you would please,” said Maltrake. “Lor’themar has called a meeting. He says it is extremely urgent.”

Rommath did not like the sound of this. Some sort of nagging feeling tugged at him, as though he knew that something inevitable was happening sooner than he would like. “I’ll be there in a moment,” he said finally. Maltrake nodded and scurried away, and after one last try with the scrying stone, Rommath teleported himself to the Court of the Sun.

  


The grand spires of Silvermoon always comforted the Grand Magister. All the world might be against the sin’dorei, but the city itself would protect her subjects when even nothing else could. For millenia the city had protected the elves, and she had nearly given her life to protect them from the horrific invasion by Arthas and the Scourge. The sin’dorei repaid this debt by tirelessly working to rebuild her and return her to her former glory. And when it came to the east side of the city, they almost had: her towers of red and gold reached into the sky, wing motifs outstretched, ever reaching towards the sun. And no matter how thin and frayed Rommath’s nerves felt now, at least he was home. He wasn’t in Dalaran or Shattrath or blasted Cosmowrench. He was home.

Rommath heard a strange, unfamiliar voice as he approached the usual meeting room. The voice sounded panicked or even pleading, although the Grand Magister couldn’t pick out any individual words. He briefly considered pausing outside the door to listen, but then he decided that he’d rather get right to the point. So he disappeared and blinked inside the room, reappearing between Lor’themar and Halduron and in front of a kneeling soldier wearing the tabard of the Sunfury.

The Sunfury soldier looked up at Rommath in bewilderment, and the mage looked down at him equally perplexed. After a few moments the soldier’s eyes widened in recognition. “You… I saw you. At Tempest Keep. A few days ago. You’re his… his…”

“Calm down and tell us what you were telling us before,” said Lor’themar evenly, who had only taken his eyes off of the soldier to glance briefly at Rommath as he joined them. “You were saying something about an attack… who attacked you?”

“There were so many of them,” the soldier said, his voice quavering as he looked down at the ground. I don’t know. From all races, Alliance and Horde. By the Sunwell, I think there may have even been sin’dorei among them. But they were well-armored so I may not have seen everything.” He looked back up at Lor’themar. “There were so many of them and they killed so many of us, and they went after the Prince, sir! They went after him! I don’t know how he could have possibly survived. A few of us just barely managed to get away, teleported out by a mage, as many of us as he could get, before he…” the soldier trailed off.

“Alright, that’s all we need to know for now,” said Lor’themar. “Are you feeling up to walking? You should have some priests attend to you.”

“Yes, Lord Regent.” He stood up somewhat shakily. Lor’themar held out an arm, and the soldier took it for balance as the Regent Lord led him to the door and helped him out. Once he had, he closed the door and then turned to face Halduron and Rommath. “Something has happened,” he said simply. “About an hour ago roughly one dozen Sunfury forces portaled in directly from Tempest Keep. Like the soldier you saw there. Most were in hysterics; the one we just saw was probably the most coherent of all of them.” He looked away for a moment and then looked back. His gaze was fixed on Rommath, and the magister noted somewhat uncomfortably that Halduron’s was, as well. “Before you entered,” Lor’themar continued, “Our… guest was saying something about how the Prince’s closest advisers were in some some secret. He didn’t know what it was.” He peered at Rommath now. “And you are one of his closest advisers, are you not?”

“Not at Tempest Keep,” Rommath nearly blurted out. “He has four advisers there— I didn’t catch their names. I’m sure they are the ones that our… our guest was referring to.”

“So you don’t know anything about any secret our Prince might be hiding from us?” Lor’themar asked, and Rommath could tell simply by his tone of voice that the Regent Lord had already passed judgment. “You don’t know why his fortress was raided? By sin’dorei, among others?”

Rommath hesitated. What was he supposed to do? By letting his secret out, he would be passing a point of no return and Kael’thas would be beyond saving. He looked directly at Lor’themar and tried to say something, but his voice caught in his throat.

“Once Kael’s loyal dog; always Kael’s loyal dog,” said a voice with no small amount of disgust. Rommath turned to face Halduron Brightwing, who was looking at him with contempt. “Between the Blood Knights and… and whatever you were doing with that poor creature M’uru, I should’ve known that you and Kael’thas were up to something sinister.”

Rommath tuned out the ranger general’s angry words, however, and focused on one thing.  _M’uru_ . Hadn’t Kael’thas been asking about it just the other day?

And suddenly a realization hit him like a bolt of cold ice down his neck.

“The Prince,” he exclaimed. “Is he alive?”

“Why? So you can join him?” Halduron snorted, his arms crossed.

Rommath ignored him and turned to face Lor’themar. “What was that survivor saying? He didn’t  _see_ Kael’thas die, did he?”

“Well, no, I don’t think so,” said Lor’themar. “But…”

“Then he’s not dead. He’s the most gifted mage I’ve ever known, and I’ve known several. Whatever these adventurers sent at him, he survived. And he’s coming here next.”

Lor’themar seemed taken aback, but he didn’t have time to respond, because then there was a frantic knocking at the door. “Sir,” said the agitated voice of whomever was on the other side, “Prince Kael’thas is here. At the Shepherd’s Gate. He’s demanding to speak to you.”

Rommath didn’t have time any longer. If he was to put a stop to this, he had to act now. Quickly he began to cast a teleportation spell without waiting for any response from the others.

Lor’themar and Halduron both noticed and reached out to try to stop him, but all they felt was empty space. Rommath was gone.

  


He rematerialized in front of Silvermoon City, where he faced the horrendous sight of not only Kael’thas Sunstrider, but a cadre of elves the likes of which Rommath had not seen before. Their skin was as red as the rocks of Hellfire Peninsula itself and was just as cracked, with glowing green fel energy emanating from underneath. Many of them had sprouted horns and a few even had wings. Kael’thas himself seemed to be in the process of undergoing his own transformation; his own skin was turning ashen and his eyes glowed so hard that they were almost white. “Ah, Grand Magister,” Kael’thas said as Rommath materialized. His voice sounded the same as always, and yet now there was something truly malevolent about it that he could not quite pin down. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

Rommath didn’t respond and instead attempted to take stock of the situation. Kael’thas Sunstrider was the most powerful mage alive, and while Rommath did not know what sort of powers the dozen or so beings that flanked him held, he was willing to bet that they were extremely dangerous. They wouldn’t have been with Kael’thas otherwise. Standing across from them were a small group of Silvermoon City guardians. Formidable warriors, to be sure, but hopelessly outmatched in this particular situation, and they would remain so until Lor’themar and Halduron succeeded in summoning the rangers and other forces. So Rommath would have to stall for time.

And standing now between Kael’thas and Silvermoon City, the Grand Magister suddenly felt very, very small.

“Prince Kael’thas,” Rommath said, desperately hoping his voice was not shaking. “It’s… certainly a surprise to see you here.”

“Yes, well, we’ve had some… difficulties, shall we say,” Kael’thas replied smoothly. “Things weren’t exactly supposed to move this quickly, but, well… here we are. And now, at long last, it is time for you to join me by my side once again. I have a gift for you, Rommath. The same gift that I gave my most powerful and loyal followers.” He held out a large burning crystal, and Rommath could see that there was more magic bursting out of it than out of a thousand arcane crystals. Demonic fel magic, of course, but magic nonetheless. “Take it,” Kael’thas encouraged him. “It is a gift from the Master himself, and I think you will find it to be a most… exhilarating experience.”

And for a fleeting second Rommath was tempted. The magical crystal called out to him; promised to soothe the emptiness in his soul. If not permanently, then at least for a long time to come— far more than any regular crystal or simple mana worm could provide. For a second he considered this… but then it was gone.

And Rommath was running out of time.

He shook his head. “No, Kael’thas” he said.

“No?” said Kael’thas. Despite what he was now, he seemed genuinely confused. And it hurt Rommath, who realized that the Prince’s trust in him had been total and complete, and now he was betraying it utterly.

“No,” Rommath repeated. He held up his staff with his left hand and readied a spell with his right, and the familiarity of the warm flame flickering to life in his palm was strangely soothing. “No. It can’t be that way.”

The surprise in Kael’s eyes turned very briefly to grief and then just as quickly to a flashing anger and finally settled on disappointment. “You sadden me, Rommath,” he said finally. “I thought you were stronger and smarter than this.” He clenched his fist around the fel crystal and almost immediately it imbued his entire being with demonic energy so strong that the Prince was nearly glowing with it as he finished and tossed the now empty stone on the ground.

Rommath did not respond to him. With every passing second he grew more certain that it was not worth trying to bargain or reason with the now mad Prince. When he first arrived he had held out hope that Kael’thas was still salvageable, but now he was nearly convinced that he was not. He turned slightly, to the Silvermoon City Guards. “On my orders,” he said.

Kael’thas laughed and began to ready a spell himself. “Thinking you can actually keep  _me_ out of  _my_ city. How cute.”

Quickly Rommath prepared a counter spell, but as he had expected, the Prince was one of the few people alive who could best the Grand Magister at his own game. Kael’thas struck with an overpowering force of energy that sent Rommath, as well as the Silvermoon guards, sprawling across the floor before any of them were even aware of what was happening. When he came to his senses, Rommath was stunned. Not because he was on the ground— but because he had been expecting to die, or at least be well on his way to death. Kael’thas could easily have killed all of the guards with one blow. Rommath might’ve survived a bit longer due to his own magical prowess, but he knew he could not stand toe-to-toe with the Prince.

Kael’thas was not trying to kill them.

Perhaps… perhaps there was some hope left after all.

Rommath pulled himself back up, none the worse for wear, and once again firmly placed himself between Kael’thas and the Shepherd’s Gate. “It’s not too late to give up on this ludicrous idea,” he said now. “The Burning Legion will only ruin you. And us.”

“ _Ruin_ us?” Kael’s eyes blazed. “Is this what you think of power, now? You’ve gone soft, Rommath. Perhaps you’ve forgotten all that the other races have done to us. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that we will not rest until we have justice.”

“And now the Legion is using us!” Rommath shot back. “Don’t let them do this. Don’t let them win. The sin’dorei are strong enough to stand alone. I’ve seen it. Haven’t you?”

But Kael’thas was getting restless, and the felblood elves alongside him were like well-trained fighting dogs on leashes, waiting for a word from their leader. It was disgusting, Rommath couldn’t help but feel, that some among their people had become little more than fel-addled animals. “I don’t have time for this,” said the Sun King. “You will all stand aside. As your prince, I order you to do this.”

The Silvermoon guards, who had just returned to their position, looked over at Rommath, and Rommath looked Kael’thas straight in the eyes. “If you want Silvermoon, you’ll have to kill me first,” he said, and immediately blindsided the prince with a well-aimed pyroblast spell. Kael’thas stumbled backward in surprise, and Rommath yelled for the guards to charge just as the felblood elves ran in themselves.

After this everything happened very quickly. The Silvermoon guards engaged the felblood while Rommath went straight for Kael himself, and for a few fleeting moments the two of them were evenly matched as they cast spells, counterspells, and incantations. But Kael’thas had the power of the Burning Legion with him and Rommath did not, and with one twist of his hand Kael’thas lifted the Grand Magister off the ground and held him suspended in the air, and the Prince held up his other hand to cast one final spell, but then—

“Drop him.”

The voice was Lor’themar’s. Rommath couldn’t see him from his position in the air, but he could hear several people arriving behind him and he felt relief flooding through his being.

Kael’thas shrugged and signaled for his felblood lackeys to return to his side. In doing so, Rommath fell and landed roughly on the ground, but he quickly jumped to his feet and backed up, placing himself between Lor’themar and Halduron, both of whom had their bows trained right at Kael’s head. He took a moment to glance around briefly; Halduron’s Farstriders had arrived, and Lor’themar had notified the magisters and Blood Knights in Rommath’s absence. Not all of them, to be sure, for several were on duty elsewhere, but at least now they had a fighting chance. And Rommath realized that, most importantly, he was no longer alone standing out in front.

Now there were three of them.

And that gave him more relief than he thought he could ever admit.

“I leave you three in charge and this is what I come back to,” said Kael’thas. “But you know, I can’t really bring myself to care that much. I am here for one thing, and one thing only.”

“He’s after M’uru,” Rommath hissed to Lor’themar, who was standing to his left.

Lor’themar nodded. “Liadrin and Astalor are stationed there, but…”

“Keeping secrets from your Prince?” Kael’thas interrupted them. “Come now, why don’t you share with the rest of us what you’re talking about?”

“Turn around and go back to your demon masters, Kael’thas,” Lor’themar said levelly.

“Oh, I intend to. After I claim my prize.  _Anar’alah belore!_ ” With a single spell Kael’thas summoned a shockwave that knocked them all backwards, taking the breath out of them, and then before Rommath could recover, Kael and the Felblood elves were upon them.

What happened next was a blur. Arrows whistled through the air; the ranseurs of the Blood Knights sang as they sliced into their targets, and Rommath, unable to find Kael’thas, launched a fireball at the nearest Felblood. But then he sensed a change in the air around him, and he knew immediately that his mage armor had been dispelled. He was about to recast it when he heard Halduron call out his name, and he whirled around just in time to see a Felblood warlock send a bolt of shadow magic right at him.

The bolt seared through him and he could feel it touch his heart and then his spine, and he suddenly felt very cold and very weak. He fell, and he thought he heard his name being called again, but he couldn’t be sure because now his vision grayed and tunneled until all he could see was Kael’thas storming into the city…

  


…Rommath did not know how much time had passed. He saw bits of colors and shapes here and there, and felt strange sensations. His head felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton. He vaguely remembered that a battle of some sort had been taking place, but it seemed to be over, now, or at least have moved somewhere else. He thought he could make someone out, leaning over him…

Lor’themar?

“Rommath,” said the Regent Lord. “Can you hear me?”

But now that he was roused, there was only one thing on his mind. He reached up with a hand, which felt very far away and not quite a part of himself, and placed it on Lor’themar’s shoulder. “Silvermoon stands?” he said weakly.

Lor’themar nodded. “Silvermoon stands.”

That was all Rommath needed to know, and fog and strange shapes shouldered their way back into his vision and then he was tugged back into darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

The next two days were certainly not what Rommath would consider to be among his finest hours.

When he came to, he was in an infirmary being attended to by diligent priests and alchemists, and despite their protests and his own less-than-ideal condition, he immediately kicked up a fuss and demanded to speak to Lor’themar for updates on the situation. Fortunately Lor’themar was nearby and obliged. Apparently there had been very few casualties on their side, thank the Sunwell, because Kael’thas was focused on one thing and one thing alone: claiming M’uru for himself. He and his Felblood elves had stormed their way into the Hall of Blood, incapacitated the elves that had been restraining the naaru, and taken it away just as quickly as they had come. Scouts reported that they had then headed north to the Isle of Quel’Danas, where they guessed he intended to put the next part of his plan in action. What his plan was, no one was sure, but Lor’themar said it had to do with the Sunwell. He said he knew this because Kael’thas had also taken something else of great power: the last remaining essence of the sacred fountain itself.

So the sin’dorei were in danger. Again. Rommath had a lot on his mind on that first day. He thought about the great betrayal that they had just suffered. He thought about how Liadrin and the Blood Knights were now bereft of a power source. He thought about all of this between naps and griping at the priests, because as much as he hated being bedbound, he had to begrudgingly admit that he was in no position to leave the infirmary any time soon.

By the second day, though, he was getting antsy. The final straw came in the late afternoon when Halduron, of all people, decided to drop in. As soon as he had been told of the Ranger-General’s impending visit he scared all of the priests away with colorful threats and then proceeded to painfully sit himself up on the bed and dress himself. Letting Lor’themar see him in his injured and vulnerable state had been bad enough. There was no way he was going to let Halduron see the same.

Rommath was sitting on the side of the bed, trying and failing to gather the strength to stand, when Halduron poked his handsome blonde head into the doorway. “May I?”

Rommath nodded curtly, and the ranger stepped inside and stood in front of the bed. Halduron eyed him up and down and then tried to make conversation. “You look a lot better than you did two days ago.”

“You truly have the gift of observation, Ranger-General.”

Halduron smirked and looked away for a moment. “I suppose I just wanted to apologize,” he said at length. “I didn’t trust you, and that was wrong of me.”

“There is no need to apologize. I would have done the same as you had the situations been reversed,” Rommath said, and to his surprise he was actually saying it genuinely by the time the words left his mouth.

There was an awkward silence, and then Halduron said, “Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. You seem to be improving, anyway. Lor’themar is in the Court of the Sun, if you wished to speak to him. I know he’s been meaning to talk to you.”

Rommath realized that he could go for an update on everything, since he hadn’t heard from the Regent Lord since the day before. Slowly and somewhat painfully he began to stand, and he started to wonder if he would even be able to, when he noticed an arm in front of him— Halduron’s. With a resigned sigh, Rommath took it and allowed the Ranger-General to help him to his feet. Rommath gave him a glance, as if to warn him not to tell anyone about what had just transpired, and he could tell by the gleam in Halduron’s eyes that the wordless message had been received and acknowledged.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

So Rommath gestured to his staff, which jumped into his hands, and then let himself out of the infirmary and slowly headed towards the Court of the Sun. On the way he passed by a mirror, and upon glancing in it, couldn’t help but notice that he had aged several years over the course of a few days.

  


Lor’themar was standing in a high alcove overlooking the city. Upon seeing Rommath approach he moved as if to make his way down to ground level, so as not to make the magister have to climb a flight of stairs, but Rommath teleported himself up in the blink of an eye and stood beside him. Lor’themar nodded at him, pleased to see that he was improving, and then for a few minutes the two of them silently looked out at Silvermoon.

“I am glad you’re doing better,” Lor’themar said after a moment. “Few elves can say they’ve survived a shadowbolt at close range— especially one from that powerful of a source. I suppose that’s why I feel I can ask you what I am about to ask you.”

Rommath looked sidelong at him but said nothing.

Lor’themar, who appeared slightly uncomfortable, continued, “I have been thrust into an awkward position. Kael’thas is back in Quel’Thalas, but not in the way we expected him to be. And now we face the prospect of a civil war, and I must lead our side.” He was quiet for a moment, as if in thought, before continuing, “And I can’t do it alone. I need Halduron, and I need you. I know that must not be an easy thing for you to hear. I know you’re still recovering from the battle, and… and I know you must be feeling… well. Anyway. I ask you now for your loyalty, if you would give it.”

Again Rommath said nothing. He had assumed that Lor’themar would ask him to officially become one of his advisers, and yet he hadn’t put much thought into how he would answer. He had been at Kael’thas’ side for so long. It would hardly feel right to give his loyalty to another so quickly.

And yet that Kael’thas that he’d known was gone. Had betrayed them. For a second the despair that Rommath had been bottling deep inside his subconscious suddenly bubbled up, and he was hit with a twinge of panic. Their backbone had been broken. How could they even continue?

He looked out at Silvermoon, bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon sun. Elves walked to and fro, going about their business, talking, laughing, crying, repairing the damage that Kael’thas had made.

Surviving.

_The rebirth of the sin’dorei has not occurred yet._

No. It had not. But it would. The backbone of Quel’Thalas may have been broken. But with the Blood Knights as her sword, with the Magisters as her beating heart, with the Farstriders as her soul, and with Lor’themar, Halduron and Rommath as her head, she would learn to stand again.

So Rommath turned and faced Lor’themar Theron. “What are your orders, Regent Lord?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first thing I've ever posted here so I'm kind of nervous haha I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED IT
> 
> Rommath is a lot of fun to write
> 
> \---
> 
> http://pikestaff.tumblr.com

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Phoenix King](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4657086) by [Ms_Adequate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Adequate/pseuds/Ms_Adequate)




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